The blueprint is the single most crucial element in mech fabrication, encompassing various core technologies that are generally kept confidential, making it impossible to implement nano-robot repair techniques otherwise.

Sub-Leaf remembered her teacher's kind face, and the gloom in her heart somewhat lifted as she began to walk the perimeter of the house. It was nearing evening, the temperature had dropped slightly, and the air was cool. The view outside the house was vast, and since Sub-Leaf was naturally an open-minded person, she quickly shook off the impact of An Junlie's words and started running alone.

Little Sprout had seen results from her training; while running, she felt as light as a swallow and surprisingly wasn't tired. Unknowingly, she had grown accustomed to running.

After about ten minutes of running, she heard footsteps ahead and couldn't help but look up. An Junlie was running directly toward her. Their eyes met. Sub-Leaf maintained her poker face, brushed past him, and continued forward.

She actually ignored him! An Junlie stopped dead in his tracks and looked back, but she was already far ahead. He paused for a moment, then turned around, changed direction to match hers, and quickened his pace to catch up with Sub-Leaf.

Sub-Leaf pretended not to see him, running silently ahead, once again displaying the hallmark trait of the Silver Talisman—the "expressionless mask."

Seeing that she had no desire to speak, and knowing that talking during a run was impractical, An Junlie also remained silent, maintaining a pace that kept him relatively still in relation to her as they ran forward.

Sub-Leaf ran one lap and went straight back to her room. An Junlie stood behind her, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Seeing her resolute silhouette, he found himself unable to utter even the simple words, "Let's go eat."

Of course, he couldn't eat alone, so he sat in the living room waiting for her.

After returning to her room, she took a shower and felt thoroughly refreshed. As for her lingering resentment toward An Junlie, she had long since tossed it to the outer reaches of the heavens.

Many people claim women are petty creatures, but that is not true. Not being angry is one thing, but not being angry does not mean one wants to speak to him. More often than not, it isn't anger; it is purely an unwillingness to engage with someone.

The moment she stepped downstairs, An Junlie immediately stood up. Sub-Leaf continued to ignore him and turned toward the dining room. An Junlie rushed to follow, his expression resembling that of a little puppy that had been abandoned.

All the dishes were Sub-Leaf's favorites, seasoned perfectly—not too salty, not too bland, cooked just right—clearly showing he had put a great deal of effort into them. During the meal, An Junlie desperately tried to establish eye contact with Sub-Leaf.

Sub-Leaf, however, looked past him, keeping her head down, silently finishing her meal. She placed her utensils down and returned to her room.

Seeing the situation deteriorating, An Junlie lunged forward and blocked her path with an outstretched hand, asking in an incredibly sincere tone, "Kid, what's wrong with you?" Seeing her utterly blank expression, he added, "Sub-Leaf?"

Sub-Leaf said coldly, "Move aside."

"No way," An Junlie's stubborn streak flared up. "Talk this out clearly, don't act like this."

Sub-Leaf let out two dismissive "Heh" sounds and suddenly looked up. "There's a piece of vegetable stuck in your teeth."

(⊙_⊙)? An Junlie instinctively covered his mouth. Sub-Leaf used his moment of stunned hesitation to slip around him and vanish. What Supreme Commander? Just a weakling with a mere 5 combat power! Defeated by a single sentence, hahaha! Sub-Leaf appeared icy cool, but inside she was incredibly smug, trotting happily back to her room.

She felt the urge to tilt her head back and laugh heartily three times!

Little Sprout was perched on her pillow. Hearing the sound, he lifted his head and grinned, "Sub-Leaf, let's do some physical training."

Sub-Leaf recalled her failure on X007 and nodded. "Fine. But you can't lock me up for days at a time again."

Little Sprout winked mischievously. "I'll shorten the time settings. Don't you want to win back a round against those aliens? I'll help you."

Sub-Leaf pondered. "My physical condition has improved a lot recently, but will such high-intensity cramming training have any adverse effects?"

Little Sprout scoffed. "Tch. The training system my genius designed is unmatched in the entire galaxy! The initial foundation training was rushed, but it never reached the body's tolerance limit, so there was no physical damage. The upcoming training will be tougher, so we'll only do two hours a day, giving you plenty of buffer time. How about it?"

Little Sprout made it sound so casual.

Once Sub-Leaf entered the training simulation, all she wanted to do was yank it out and give its backside a good thrashing.

This time, the training was passive. That is, it focused on strengthening Sub-Leaf's ability to withstand damage and training her on how to minimize injury while being struck.

Besides being beaten up by robots—the most basic task—she was subjected to attacks from lasers, electrical shocks, and other assaults, each one stronger and more brutal than the last. Sub-Leaf was barely prevented from foaming at the mouth.

Whenever this happened, Little Sprout would pop up to tell her how to avoid being hit in vital areas.

Sub-Leaf endured what felt like dual torture—mental and physical.

Adapting to this ordeal required a long process. First, being beaten until the world went dark, nearly dying, fostering an extreme sense of dread where merely seeing the attacks induced terror. Next came understanding the basic characteristics of the attacks, their strengths and weaknesses, and learning to consciously avoid damage. Finally, completely eradicating the fear, allowing her to make accurate judgments even under conditions where coherent thought was impossible.

This period of training was the most agonizing time Sub-Leaf had ever experienced. After enduring a session of grueling torment daily, she still had to focus her mind to instruct the robots and collaborate with others to plan the downing of interstellar warships.

Eventually, even thought was abandoned, and training relied entirely on the most primal instincts of seeking advantage and avoiding harm—which, incidentally, is one of the most vital aspects of humanity, one that was carelessly discarded in some bygone era.

In Little Sprout's assessment, Sub-Leaf was barely qualified.

It silently mused that if it were An Junlie, it would definitely double the intensity of the training, thoroughly crush him, and then forge him into the strongest pilot in history—that would surely bring immense satisfaction.

However, An Junlie was not its master.

And it had no interest in switching masters.

From this perspective, no matter how intelligent a Mainframe evolved, it remained merely a machine; it lacked the complex sentiments of humans, such as loyalty or betrayal.

It merely strove to make its existence valuable.

Whether a technician or a pilot, in its eyes, the only distinction was master or non-master.

During this entire period, An Junlie became a total non-entity. Sub-Leaf ignored him, Little Sprout disregarded him, and even the robots seemed to instantly grasp their master's intentions, refusing to converse with him.

His dedicated personal robot, F430, crashed two or three times a day—whether intentionally or not was unclear—leaving him extremely frustrated.

On this particular day, Sub-Leaf had successfully passed a passive training milestone, a rare occurrence. Little Sprout zipped out and circled in front of him playfully, chirping, "Alien, do you know what you did wrong?"

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